


Night Terror

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Archie is not okay, F/M, Fallout, Meta, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 12:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14105283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: It's the third time this week.After seeing his father get shot, surviving a predator, and nearly being buried alive, Archie realizes he needs help.





	Night Terror

Archie lies in bed, hands clasped behind his neck, and looks up at the ceiling slats. There’s a water-stain just off-center in the shape of a pistol, a statue’s head, a woman’s breast. Maybe all three.

As he stares at the stain, a slow trickle of red sand begins to fall through the cracks of the ceiling tiles onto his bed. It begins slowly, falls faster and faster until a rush of ruby powder covers his left leg. Still the stuff pours until the pile collapses, covering his lower half. His chest. His neck. His mouth. His nose. His eyes…

He wakes with a strangled cry, lying on his back in the old room. The intersection between nightmare and reality is a flashing surprise, so sudden that Archie’s not sure if he wakes or sleeps. With a groan, he tries to sit up but find he can’t move.

Night paralysis, again. It’s the third time this week.

“Dad,” he whispers. “Dad, are you there?”

Archie’s words are silent, stuck in his throat, but the door opens anyway. Fred Andrews is a dark silhouette in the orange rectangle created by their hall light and the darkness within. “Don’t move,” his father whispers. “Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move. Don’t. Move. Don’t. Move!”

There’s nothing Archie can do. He lies, helpless, as his father walks into the room. A red rose blooms across the man’s chest, spreading until it drips down his sleeves and arms, off his fingers onto the rug.

“Move,” Archie’s father repeats. “Or you’ll be late.”

With strange dream logic, Archie finds he’s lying in a formal parlor. There are people he recognizes: Betty, Veronica, Jughead. They all wear black, and Ronnie is crying. She leans over his bed, except it’s not a bed any longer.

He’s inside a box.

Veronica leans closer and kisses him on one cheek. When she stands, he sees she wears glasses and a knowing smile.

Not Ronnie. He’s just been kissed by Geraldine Grundy.

Archie tries to scream, until the effort nearly cracks his lungs. With a nauseating jolt, his body jackknifes, propelling him fully awake at last.

#

Third time this week.

Archie scrapes his hair back with one shaking hand, feels his heart gallop. He's always been the guy with sunny temper, lots of girlfriends, a place on the football team. Maybe not as bright as some of the other kids at Riverdale High, but always ready to go in with head down and fists up.

The old smartphone his dad gave him is right beside the bed, but which contact should he call? Veronica? Betty? Jughead?

All of them have their own ghosts.

He draws in a long, shuddering breath and comes to a realization: he can’t go on like this much longer. Sleep has become elusive, he can’t concentrate at school, and food tastes like sawdust.

The only thing that sounds appetizing lies in a locked box at the back of the closet, and Archie has promised himself he’s not going to use. If he takes Jangle again, it'll mean a hell of a fight to stop.

Archie swipes through the Recents on his phone and stops. He hesitates, stabs one name.

On the other end, there are five long rings. The call connects with a sleepy, “Hello? Archie?”

“Mom,” he gasps. “I think I really need some help.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about Archie lately. There simply has to be some kind of traumatic fall-out for that poor kid.


End file.
